Chapter 9: The Color of the Water
The crew arrived at seven on Monday morning.
There were four of them.
They were efficient and quiet and they knew exactly what they were doing.
The lead contractor — a man named Sal — walked the site with me first, pointing out what they would need to remove, what the shell underneath was likely to look like, and what the restoration timeline would be if everything went as expected.
"Three weeks," he said.
"Maybe a little less if the shell is intact."
"My husband built it himself," I said.
"He was thorough."
Sal nodded.
"We'll know more once we start breaking up the fill."
My kids watched from the back window again.
Rosie had her nose against the glass.
Daniel stood with his arms crossed.
My two middle ones, Sophie and Ben, were pressed together, whispering.
I let them watch.
I thought they should see it.
By mid-morning, the concrete was coming out in sections.
Sal came to find me in the kitchen.
"Shell is in excellent condition," he said.
"Whoever built this knew what they were doing.
The concrete didn't bond to it properly — it was just sitting on top."
"So the pool itself is undamaged?"
"Structurally, yes.
We'll need to check the fittings and the lining, but the shell is solid." He paused.
"We found the original tile sample your son mentioned.
Pale blue-green.
It's a discontinued line, but we located old stock through a supplier in the next state.
Enough to complete the job."
I put my hand on the counter.
"Thank you," I said.
He nodded and went back outside.
That afternoon, Diane called.
"Gary filed the voluntary statement this morning," she said.
"The DA's office accepted it.
They're treating it as a cooperative disclosure."
"What does that mean for him?"
"It means the process will be longer and more complicated than a simple ethics complaint, but his cooperation will be considered.
The contribution to the commissioner is the most serious element.
The wall situation is murkier — the subcontractor is now also being investigated." She paused.
"The commissioner who received the contribution has retained a defense attorney."
"So it's bigger than Gary."
"It was always bigger than Gary," Diane said.
"He was just one piece of it.
Patrice's complaint opened a door that people in that office have apparently wanted opened for a while."
I looked out the window at the backyard.
Sal's crew was working steadily.
The gray concrete was almost entirely gone.
"And Patrice?" I said.
"She's fine," Diane said.
"More than fine.
The DA's office called her personally to thank her for the recording.
Her department head sent her a formal letter of commendation this morning."
Something in my chest loosened.
"Good," I said.
After I hung up, I went outside.
The afternoon was warm and the yard smelled like cut earth and something mineral from the concrete dust.
Sal was crouching at the edge of the pool, checking the fitting on the main drain.
"Looking good," he said without looking up.
I stood at the edge and looked down at the pale shell of the pool.
The curve of the steps on the shallow end was exactly as Tom had built it.
Smooth.
Deliberate.
Measured fifteen times.
Daniel came out and stood beside me.
We didn't say anything for a while.
"It's still there," he said finally.
"It was always there," I said.
"It just had something on top of it."
He looked at the curve of the steps.
"Dad would be annoyed that someone messed with it."
"Yes," I said.
"He would."
"But he'd also think it was kind of funny that it ended up being fine."
I looked at my son.
He had his father's jaw and his father's way of standing and, apparently, his father's sense of humor about things.
"He would think that," I said.
Daniel almost smiled.
"He'd say something like, 'Concrete doesn't know who it's dealing with.'"
I laughed.
It came out before I could stop it, and it was real, and it felt like something that had been held tight for a long time finally letting go.
Daniel looked surprised.
Then he laughed too.
We stood at the edge of the pool that Tom had built, in the yard where Katherine had screamed and Gary had confessed and Patrice had done the right thing, and we laughed in the afternoon sun until Rosie came running out to see what was funny.
"What is it?" she demanded.
"What did I miss?"
"Nothing," Daniel said.
"Everything's fine."
She looked at the pool shell, then at both of us.
"Is it going to be the same color?"
"Same color," I said.
She considered this seriously.
Then she nodded, satisfied, and went back inside.
Daniel watched her go.
"She's going to swim every single day," he said.
"I know," I said.
"Dad would love that."
May you like
"He would," I said.
"He really would."
